Title: 5 Tenets

By: CypressArtemis

Summary: There are certain codes one must follow when inducted into the Brotherhood. Traditions long since forsaken with the death of the previous Listener, yet the Dovahkiin has still managed to break them all anyway. Hinted, Lucien x Dovahkiin. Spoilers.

Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.

"Should have figured Astrid would send you." Arnbjorn's roughened voice knocked her out of her bewitched stupor, hazy eyes finally breaking away from the proudly carved depiction of Sithis that stared back with firm accusation.

The older werewolf was nothing more than a wobbly lump collecting copious bits of frost in the overcastting darkness. A light dusting already coating his bulking heaving shoulders, a deep pool of scarlet had gathered in the blinding white expanse beneath his hunched form. A protective forearm curved amidst his abdomen where the shrouded armor was torn across the midsection, an angry slash already spawning new flesh resided beneath the leather, peeking out through sinew hide and bloodied fingers. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the grotesqueness, the flesh torn too jagged and frayed around the ridges, not as cleanly a slice as she'd imagine Cicero's ebony blade would create. "That looks pretty bad."

The fellow Nord gave a hardy laugh, crackled wheezing of distress followed shortly behind as he strained against the painful sting, trying to hide away with shame the amount of damage the deranged Imperial had managed to inflict upon one such as himself. In the end he relented with a sneer and a deep rumble of bitterness saturating his pained breath. "Yeah, gotta admit that little jester's pretty good with that butter knife. Don't worry though, I gave as good as I got."

Rosalind couldn't deflect the frown that tugged at her lips, making them tremble at the corners as she attempted to fight away the concern, Arnbjorn's promise ringing in her ears potently as poison. Her feebly disguised twitches of anxiety were not lost on her fellow lycanthrope and in response his lips curled with a disgust that bore unnaturally sharp teeth.

That thick musty smell of shed blood made her all the more restlessly apprehensive. Her mind was still reeling, trying to catch up with current events piling higher and higher like the mighty mountains in the backdrop. How could all this have happened? Cicero wasn't exactly openly welcome by everyone, but he was doing well enough. The others had gotten used to having him around and normally the man was respectful to his dark family. So why now? And was he even still alive? The thought alone had her stomach churning and her head throbbed achingly between the eyes. "Where is Cicero?"

The man grunted and jerked his head towards the Black Door. Pink splatters lie in the snow at the frame and red smears like fingerprints, not from the central symbolism built natural into the door, slathered amongst Sithis and the mountainside. "In there. Some kind of old Sanctuary by the looks of it. I would have gone after him, but I don't know the phrase."

"I'll await you within," Lucien's baritone whisper slithered cold against her ear, twirling her hair as she felt the breeze of his body pass by. Though invisible once more to the naked eye she felt a shift in the atmosphere and there was no doubt when he had phased his way through the supposedly impenetrable door.

She returned her attentions to the injured Nord still struggling to sit upright in the snow. His inner wolf was no doubt howling in outrage at the loss of prey over the gash in his stomach and she circled around him cautiously, approaching sideline as opposed to his forefront. "Maybe you should wait here. Let me see to Cicero."

"Alright. I'd only get in your way right now anyways. Little fop cut me pretty deep, but I slashed him good. Pretty sure I severed an artery. I'm not sure what you'll find in there but I'm pretty sure you could just follow the blood."

Rose nodded to him and huddled closer into herself as the wind picked up its relentless howl through Dawnstar, bathing her in frigid breezes that rivaled the harsh chill of Lucien's hands and ebony stare any day. Arnbjorn seemed less than bothered, but then he had so much more to worry over than a possible blizzard, not to mention the recent transformation had undoubtedly left his skin searing hot as though with fever. He probably welcomed the bitter nipping of frosted winds.

She approached the door in lethargic jerky strides as through it were instead some sort of feral rabid hound, her eyes locked firmly on the surrounding blood stains, still fresh and dripping like molasses downward, that must belong to Cicero. Her feet leaving grooves in the snow as she stopped close and shifted around from foot to foot in nervousness. The great black horse behind her pinned her ears and snorted, its large head jolting forward as if ushering her onward.

Taking a final step closer her hand reached out to sweep over the red hand within the center, the deep breathy voice resounding in her ears with its inquisitive riddle that had her mind racing to recall Cicero's ramblings amidst the bound leather and musty pages.

What is life's greatest illusion?

"Innocence, my brother."

Welcome home.

The first thing to greet her as the door clamored shut, aside from the ghostly apparition leaning nonchalantly against the moss covered wall, was the rather large splattering of oozy scarlet upon the floor. It appeared Cicero had tripped after entering his Sanctuary and hemorrhaged all over the inlaid stonework. Pressed against the wall was a little table not 3 feet away, decorated grotesquely with an aged human skull, a lantern recently lit dancing light off the temporal bone and casting morbid shadows around the entrance.

Lucien straitened, pushing himself from the wall that was slowly crumbling away. Bits of rock and eroded dust leaving a coating across the flooring as moss and ivy grew out of varied cracks in the walls and ceiling. He rounded the corner first, his pace gradual and unrushed, awaiting her to come up aside and take lead.

Almost halfway down the hall Cicero's voice rang out, echoing shrilly throughout the abandoned Sanctuary.

"Listener! Is that you?! Oh I knew you'd come! Send the best to defeat the best! Astrid knew her stupid wolf couldn't slay sly Cicero!"

If situation had been different Lucien may have cracked a smile when his Listener jumped at the harsh shrieking voice that reverberated off ancient stone, gliding eerily through corridors like the unseen supernatural forces, and clung to his arm in a fashion similar to that of a frightened child. Her body tucked itself tightly in the space between his arm and hip, head swirling this way and that, gaze flicking from corner to corner on the ceiling, seeking out the source of the Jester's lamenting. "How the hell is he doing that?"

"Old buildings," he explained simply. His fingers rose to tug at a rather thick coil of ivy, bits and pieces of rock scraped away and tumbled from the little ledge in a miniscule rockslide to land upon the ground in little drops. "Lots of holes."

A contemplative look took residence upon her face as she considered it for a moment, her fingers brushing ponderously over the plant stem wound around his gloved palm. Still linked with him in a standstill he felt her body give a shiver and just then she finally seemed to realize their current situation and disentangled herself from his limbs with a sheepish smile. Her shoulders shrugged upwards in discomfort as her hands rubbed hastily down her forearms, the friction battling away the chill that had seeped into her from his body. "I guess at least we know he's alive."

"I never suspected otherwise," was all he offered in retaliation before nudging her onward by the small of her back whilst dropping the overgrowth of vegetation in the process.

She stumbled forward at the unexpected pressure, a growl of indignation on her lips as he ushered her onward with impatience. Not five steps later she was mounting the top of a new set of stone stairs, taking them two at a time to avoid another jostling from the ghost nipping hastily at her heals. The level floor was cluttered with useless junk and a thick smoldering fog of heated smoke, stinging her eyes and nose with it's bitter acidic stench.

Eyes watered at the offending smog and tears began to leak out of the corners, rolling down her cheeks in waves that left her blinking promptly and swiping at her skin with black cotton sleeves. The book shelves full of wood rot were just as decaying as the remainder of the sanctuary but held up enough to stabilize a pile of scorched books and various forms of pottery full of cobwebs and dust. A troll's skull lay sideways on the top shelf of a case closest to the exit, the jaw broken and hanging awkwardly at an angle.

Rosalind maneuvered clumsily through the doorway, a baggy sleeved arm held high above her brows in an attempt to keep that horrid cloud of smoke out of her eyes. Her foot kicked over an old bucket and it rolled across the floor in a clutter of noise that made Lucien hiss in her general direction, not that she was turning back around for any reason.

Hustling though the door she had to halt abruptly when she nearly ran smack dap into a set of metal bars that stood overlooking what must have been the main chamber of this particular sanctuary. Like the one in Falkreath a rather large table and chairs occupied a major portion of space, residing beside a decent sized hearth. Old soot and coals creating a charcoal pile that nestled at the bottom of artistic stonework. No fire and no fresh logs to be burned anywhere in sight.

Off to the right was a miniscule alter she imagined the Night Mother may have once stood upon proudly. It was nowhere near as immaculate as the current one. No glorious stained glass, no pews, not baskets and wreaths filled with nightshade and snowberries, not even a single candle. Nothing but spider silk and dusty mold that stunk of rotten earth.

Lucien emerged from the other room and kicked the door closed with the heel of his foot. A loud cracking echoed in the desolate space as the wood locked into place. She had turned with intent to scowl at him when she heard the familiar slinging noise of a dagger being ripped from its sheath.

Squinting off to the left a form materialized out of the wall looking all too similar to the man at her side. It rushed forward brandishing a blade of white blue mist, the corporal form fading and wafting through the air as it charged with an angered snarl.

Stunned she stood there statue still as the Sanctuary Guardian rushed forwards, lips pulled up in a sneer that showed off the linear shape of gritted teeth. Its arm lifting high above its translucent head, fingers tightly wrapped around an ancient looking hilt, robes similar to her own fading outwards on the breeze with every movement as though a gust of wind would scatter him away in tendrils of white energy.

Lucien slipped his blade free and in a single fluid motion sliced it cleanly across the throat of the other opposing specter. It crumbled to the floor, decomposing from a humanoid figure into a mass of blue powder, reminding her of a vampire burning away to an ashen pile.

Glancing over she watched Lucien slide his blade back into its sheath, his face composed and inattentive in his boredom. He took the initiative to wander away and study the ancient Sanctuary's alchemy garden, leaving her standing there to gape at the remnants of a fellow deceased brother. The little fence was falling down, curled towards the ground with missing pieces snapped off in jagged planks. The plants inside had grown over one another, weeds and dead foliage littering the soil as the surviving plants climbed the walls and strangled the others over mineral rich dirt and specks of sunlight.

"I, um," Rose shifted her feet, regarding the pile of luminescent powder barely a foot away and wondering if a thank you was in order. After all he technically did just kind of save her life. When she looked up his back was still facing her and the words quickly evaporated similar to morning dew in the sunlight. "I wasn't expecting that."

Lucien scoffed at the admission, continuing with paying her little to no regard, and hunched down next to a string of swamp fungal pods, "As if that wasn't already obvious."

Sidestepping the ash pile she circled around to observe as he clutched one of the pods and violently ripped it from the old garden. Holding it in view he shook it by the stock and watched overly dry crusty dirt rain down from thirsty roots before throwing it aside. The plant smacked into the wall and fell back into soil as he straightened to his feet and noticed her watching him, eyes shining with perplexity and brows drawn in a confused bit of concern. "I thought you were the only member Sithis brought back."

"Clearly not." His thumb brushed repeatedly over his fingertips, smearing dirt and flaking it off his opaque hands. For a moment he seemed lost but with a flick of his thumb he was back to looking into her eyes, dropping his hand to his side. "Trespassers are generally unwelcome."

"But we're not trespassers," she argued matter-of-factly. Lucien though was gravely silent and serious in a way that made her lips draw down in a doubtful frown. Somehow he always managed to make her feel like a nervous child, and her eyes fell downcast till she had the courage to look up through her lashes at him, blue irises filled with uncertainty. "Are we?"

"Technically, yes."

She had opened her mouth to insist that he was lying, to claim the belonging of sanctuary was guaranteed to all members, since that was what Astrid had told her, but like clockwork Cicero chimed in cutting off the argument with raspy pained breathing and hash shrieking words of contempt.

"Oh, but this isn't at all what Mother would want. You kill the Keeper or I kill the Listener? Now that's madness!"

Her eyes traversed the path long before her feet did. The old rope bridge didn't look at all promising. Sithis only knew how long the thing had been left abandoned to grow weak and ropes to grow frayed around the edges of wood posts that she was meant to trust quite literally with her life. Rosalind sucked in a deep breath to steady her nerves as she whispered to herself about one foot in front of the other, not looking down, and how psychotic ghosts need to stop shoving her along already!

Rosalind practically felt Lucien's black eyes roll when she seethed out the last of her self encouragement over her shoulder, deliberate that he heard her proclamation of him being a psychopath. "You're going too slow," he growled impatiently from behind her when his hands all too suddenly grasped tightly onto her hips and he made an attempt to shove her forcefully onwards.

"Lucien!" Shrieking in outraged shock she stumbling violently forward, arms desperately clawing at the ropes as she finally caught herself before tumbling to collide face first into the line of wood planks beneath them. Whirling around she screamed at him, "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Get down!" His fingers encompassed so tightly around her right arm there was no doubt bruises were forming in the process as she fought him with stubborn earnest, all the while he attempted to yank her into his body. There was no time to wrench her arm away before she felt the piercing sting striking across her mid upper arm, the sickening sound of cotton robes and flesh ripping and the warm flow of her blood dribbling down her arm made her hiss out a pained noise between clenched teeth.

An agonizing expression took residence when the spike trap in the wall recoiled, the sharpened tip glistening red retracting with a torturous yank out of her skin, leaving her easy prey to be forced to the floor and shoved aside by Lachance. Another Sanctuary Guardian approaching rapidly from behind swiping at them both. Rose curled farther into herself on the ground, clutching the bleeding mess that was her arm as Lucien snarled, grabbing the wisp of spectral robes and hurling his ancient brother over the edge of the bridge with animalistic brutality. The Guardian howled in outrage and exploded into a storm of dust upon impact with the floor below.

Cicero's laughter echoed throughout the room, unbeknownst to him his Listener was seething at the very sound that used to make her smile. Any pity was now replaced with a blinding moment of resentment as she applied pressure to her mangled arm.

"Ouch! Pointy! Pointy! My home is well defended. I always have been a stickler for details. Get it? Stickler. Hahahaha, oh I slay me."

Lucien crouched at her side, his hands none-too-gently yanked the baggy shrouded robes off her shoulder and exposed a mangled jab to his inspecting eyes. It was more a flesh wound than anything, the glistening tip of the spear had sliced the outer portion of skin long ways, thankfully missing splintering a hole through both her deltoid and humerus.

"Lucien?" The timidity in her voice made his teeth clench harshly. All he could think was how ungodly stupid she was not to obey him, how horribly grotesque he wanted to leave the Keeper's body for inflicting such a gash on his Listener, but mostly how much he just wanted to destroy something, namely Astrid for sending them here in the first place. Frigid bitch never does her own dirt work.

"Hush," his voice was a demanding feral growl that made her mouth snap shut instantaneously. When he poked at the gash her teeth clenched all the tighter and she turned away with her eyes screwed shut, afraid any noise on her part would send the specter into a violent rampage. Lucien didn't seem to pay her anguish any mind as he continued to poke and prod, his palm cupping the wound to hinder the bleeding. It wasn't until she felt the familiar tingling warmth of his healing spell that she breathed out a thankful sigh of relief. The golden energy mending the tangled skin and ceasing the flow of blood.

When it was over he hauled her to her feet, his expression twisted and bitter as he loomed over her in intimidating menace. "When I say get down, I mean it."

"I'm sorry," she squeaked out, trying to shake out of his death grip that was leaving purple fingerlike marks on her pale flesh. Part of her wanted to ask what was wrong with him since he seemed to be in another one of his moods, but Lucien had never been the type for sharing and feelings, so she bit her lip and averted any eye contact.

Finally he growled and released her, swirling and marching ahead with steps full of purpose. "Let's keep going."

Following after him in uncomfortable silence she wrapped her arms around her chest in a closed off hug that really wasn't much of a comfort, eyes firmly set on the infuriated specter carving a path onwards. A series of spiral stairs were rapidly approaching and as they climbed down she stilled and leant into the coolness of the stone wall.

A pinkish spill of oil lay beneath the shadow of the bridge looming overhead. Red droplets stained the floor around it and she frowned at the knowledge it was her blood that decorated the expanse filled with a cluster of yet more bookshelves and old practice targets for bows. She grabbed one of the ruined books off the shelf and Lachance arched a brow, stepping away to observe just what she was planning.

Maybe the first intelligent thing Lucien noticed her do since they walked into the sanctuary was check the flooring, spotting the wire trap set directly in the pathway. He backed away a little more and unleashed a bout of purple magic that cloaked him completely and rendered him invisible as she unsheathed her dagger, crouched down, and crept ever closer, making sure to keep hidden behind the wall. Two guardians materialized when she suddenly tossed the scorched book into the center of the oil spill and as they approached Rosalind reached around the corner she was hiding behind, her dagger outstretched caught the wire and with a flick of her wrist it snapped in half.

As expected the lamp lit high above came crashing down at an alarming rate and shattered over the floor. Glass pottery went spiraling around the room and the fire set the oil spill aflame, spreading across the floor and engulfing the Sanctuary Guardians in wild scorching flames. Both groaned painfully in unison before crumbling away with the fire as it died, leaving behind a stain of charcoal and glowing embers.

Lucien couldn't help looking down prideful at his Listener, "well done."

She practically beamed up at him when he finally reappeared from beneath the cloak of his magic spell. A grin stretched over her lips as she jumped up from her hiding spot. Now would be the perfect time to give her a pat on the back, a shoulder squeeze, even ruffle up her hair, some sort of gesture that said you did good. Something other than words that would finally fill her with a semblance of accomplishment at making her Speaker proud for a change instead of annoyed.

His fingers twitched at his side and for a second he truly considered giving her that gentle slap on the back he used to give to younger initiates that had managed to truly impress him, but instead he curled his fingers into a fist of resistance and ignored it before walking off. There was a pause before he heard the echo of her footfalls following sluggishly behind, and apparently he wasn't the only one as Cicero's bewilderment surrounded them.

"You're… still alive. Cicero respects the Listener's abilities of course, but could you at least slow down a bit? I'm not what I used to be."

Cicero's voice sounded labored, strained even, in his amazement. It was obvious he truly hadn't expected them to make it this far and the fact that they had made Rosalind's frown of rejection turn into a subtle smirk of self-satisfaction. Cicero was a seasoned assassin as well, after all, and his praise was enough to make her giddy despite Lucien's attitude.

As they passed through the corridor and into the main chamber that was downcast of the large metal bars above she nudged Lucien in the arm, feeling unusually playful given the circumstances. Those sinister black eyes glanced over, staring at the odd little smile on her face as she stared at him expectantly.

Puzzled he stared at her for a moment, waiting, until he realized she wasn't going to say anything farther. "What?"

Her smile widened considerably, showing off pearly white teeth that, like Arnbjorn's, were much too sharp to be natural as she snickered. "Nothin."

He halted, baring down on her and giving the best leer he could muster, eyes practically demanding she tell him exactly what had suddenly possessed her to make her so flighty and cheerful. "Rosalind?"

She suddenly threw her whole body into him knocking him into a stagger before laughing and taking off through a cracked hole of shattered stained glass and fluffy white snow. A freezing draft of winter air whistling through the tunnel once shielded away by a colorful mural of Sithis. "Catch me if you can, assassin!"

Flabbergasted he stood beside the long dining table, blinking after her and praying to his dear father, asking if he was suddenly the only remaining Dark Brother with a fraction of sanity remaining. They were on a mission to possibly kill the Night Mother's Keeper, weaving a course through a supposedly abandoned Sanctuary filled with deathly traps and ancient guardians hell bent on slaughtering them both and his Listener wanted to play tag?!

He snorted and ambled closer to the opening she had darted through, looking down the dark tunnel and drumming his fingers on a splintered shard of orange glass still hanging off the stone. A few bear traps were still open facing upwards with metal jaws jutting out of the frost. Overstepping them he followed her footprints deeper until he spotted her, still smiling as she stood there waiting.

When she appeared ready to run off again he crossed his arms and stared her down scolding. "I will not partake in such foolishness, Listener."

Her face fell, juvenile joy replaced with disappointment. He wondered briefly if Arnbjorn had to put up with such behavior when he offered to take her out into town for dinners when Nazir made those vegetarian dished the pair despised so persistently.

"You're such a buzz kill," she complained, her voice traveling through the tunnel compelling the deranged Imperial to speak suddenly.

"Brr… chilly!" "You'll enjoy this. Not an original part of the Sanctuary per say. Let's call it a forced addition. Forced by what? Oh, come and see!"

Rosalind looked at him confused and when he offered no explanation she shrugged and trudged onwards through the snowy landscape, hopping and skirting around the blatantly obvious bear traps. Landing on the other side of sharp metal she paused, inhaled deeply, and turned around seeming rather anxious. "I smell blood."

Lucien kicked over the trap and the metal jaws slammed shut with a clang of emptiness. His outstretched arm nudged her back behind him protectively as he stepped cautiously. The roar from deep within made him smile dangerously and he unsheathed his blade as the lumbering alabaster blur began to stagger towards them.

A large frost troll covered in fresh blood and surrounded by half eaten and decomposed animal carcasses roared. It's multiple eyes spotting them and it charged in a fury, ready to shred the more living assassin into as many pieces as possible.

Unsheathing her bow Rose notched a golden arrow in the string and released it, relishing the pained screech of the creature as it sunk deep into the broad chest. The momentary distraction served nicely for Lucien to sink the steel blade of his dagger hilt deep in the animal's abdomen, ripping it out along with a chunk of furred flesh and a spray of blood to avoid getting smashed in the face by a massive fist.

Another arrow joined its brethren in the troll's trunk. It's jaws parted and it roared angrily ready to charge at the Nord currently slinging her bow back over her shoulder and conjuring a spell of destructive fire in her gloved palm.

Lucien sliced the animal's arm open, hitting bone as it took off. It's lumbering form stumbling and falling forwards as a ball of fire sunk into the top of its head, burning the fur to a singed black and most likely liquidating the thing's brain as it screeched and convulsed before falling deathly still.

The horrid stench of seared flesh, burned hair, and boiling brain tissue made Rosalind cough and gag uncontrollably. Pinching her nose she covered her mouth as she doubled over , pressing a hand into the frozen wall for support, shaking and finally her stomach churned to the point of sickness and she heaved into the snow.

Sniffling she wiped her mouth and waved Lucien off when he made a point to take a step closer, feeling slightly thankful to see even his face was scrunched up in distaste at the offending smell of the charred carcass.

"All right, so Cicero attacked that harlot, Astrid! But what's a fool to do, when his mother is slandered and mocked? Surely the Listener understands!"

Rosalind shoved away from the wall and practically sprinted out of the room down the remaining vastness of the frozen tunnel and smashed her shoulder into the door. It splintered and flung open with a rip of wood shavings and she didn't even care that she tripped and fell over onto the floor as Lucien sprinted out after her, slamming the door shut behind him.

To onlookers it would have seemed more like a couple of terrified children running from the boogeyman than two assassins desperate to evade such a stomach churning smell. Hell, even when she had broken into the house in Windhelm and met that poor boy in the midst of the black sacrament it didn't smell that horrid.

Lucien took her arm and helped yank her up off the floor.

"Thanks," she breathed out as he nodded and walked over to a set of spike like bars. A chain dangled beside it and he pulled it, watching the sealed off area become accessible as the bars receded into the flooring. They made their way downwards and into an old crypt like tomb that made Rosalind growl in frustrated exhaustion. "How big is this place?"

"Quiet," he chided. "There are definitely more enemies here."

"Like I hadn't thought of that," she whispered back snidely enough to make him wrap an arm around the back of head and cover her mouth with a freezing gloved hand. Smiling amused as she squirmed and struggled in his grip, her voice muffled as she murmured threats against his palm and even attempted to bite him a few times.

His grasp tightened as he walked her forwards and found himself dragging her through the coffin stocked crypt much like the necessary kidnap victims he used to take hostage back in the day. Finally he felt her slump to the floor, sitting at his feet and twisting her head, a barely recognizable, "Let go," reaching his ears.

Unfortunately he had no other option than to relinquish his hold, but he continued to smirk down at her as she sat perched by his feet glaring up at him with contempt.

"I hate you," she stated and he chuckled, hauling her off the floor and tugging her along behind him.

"Cicero admits he thought the Listener would be dead by now. Heh, maybe we could just forget all this? Hmm? Let bygones be bygones? What do you say?"

Of course Rose was expecting there to be more ghostly enemies, especially in a crypt of all places, but four… That was just overkill.

Good thing Lucien had actually gone with her or she would be screwed. By the time they had fought their way through them and made it to the ending and into the next room her cheek bared a sizable slash, her robes had been ripped along the hip where a spectral arrow had grazed the fabric, and her pant leg had been singed by a torch that had fallen off the wall during a scuffle that Lucien had remarked looked like a terrible rendition of a waltz.

Whatever that was.

"If it's any comfort, I do feel slightly bad about Veezara. Stupid lizard got in my way! But please tell me that hunkering sheepdog has bled to death."

"If he says one more word," she seethed glaring angrily while shaking a clenched fist at the ceiling like the jester could hear her, or even cared what she had to say for that matter. Exhausted she slumped against another set of bars in search of a momentary resting spot. Her entire body hurt at this point and she poked at the splintered skin of her cheek, feeling the nasty ridges already start the healing process. Sometimes it paid to be a werewolf.

"You'll what?" Lucien inquired, his arm lifting to tug another rope chain that hang listlessly against the wall. The bars whizzed back into their sockets and Lucien watched as she tumbled backwards onto her behind with a yelp, her arms flailing the entire way.

"Oww, you did that on purpose." She whined pitifully as she used the tight juncture of the wall to brace herself and yank herself back onto her feet. One hand lay splayed over the cold stone and the other rubbed at her lower back just south of her hipbone.

"You're right," he admitted, sighing and suddenly looking rather apologetic which made her regard him all the more suspiciously. Her head tilted at an angle, eyes narrowed and began glancing him up and down as she thought about the little stunt he pulled back at the house. "Allow me to make amends."

He opened his arms and languidly approached her, stopping short in order to leave very little space between them. When she didn't move and just stood there staring him up and down with farther intensified scrutiny he waggled his fingers and ushered her onwards.

"This is a trick," she declared, continuing to watch him closely with her investigative mistrust.

"It's not," he replied, beckoning her again with his classic alluring smirk. "I promise."

A splah of honey in his words and reluctantly she stepped into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug, his hands running gently over her back in what could only be described as a soothing manner. Soon she was relaxing and actually smiled against his chest. At least until she felt his hand dip down and caress her ass. Her eyes widened and she jolted back in a desperate struggle to escape his prowling hands before smacking into the wall as he laughed.

Pointing a finger in his face she stammered accusingly. "You grabbed my butt!"

"I was making it better," he defended with a careless shrug that made her bite her lip almost unbearably hard.

"Don't do that again." She growled, almost pouting as she crossed her arms and began walking backwards through the hallway, eyes firmly fixed on him.

"One day you'll ask me to do it again," he purred and followed her watching her eyes widen and her teeth dig harder into her trapped lip. He almost did a double take when he thought he saw a pink flush in her cheeks.

"Never!" Rose insisted fervently and jabbed him roughly in the chest. "And don't even consider it."

"Listener…"

"I'm not listening," she cupped her ears and spun around, humming some unfamiliar tune as they wandered the hallway and came to a dead end. A table sat there displaying a candle halfway through its life cycle, another skull illuminated by the firelight, a silver goblet, and the vibrancy of purple petals of a death bell flower. A copy of the tenets hung above the table. The parchment just as yellowed with age as the others in Falkreath, the slanted ink just as faded and smeared.

Rose let her hands fall to either side of her neck. Gloveless fingers sifted through the dark strands of silky hair till fingertips touched the smooth heated skin on her neck. She frowned as she read over what little words she could make out and when she turned around Lucien was staring at the aged paper, and somehow he looked so much older. Like everything had suddenly all come back to slam into him at once. All the memories and the pain snowballed in his chest as he sulked in silence, devoid black eyes scanning the law he once upheld with dignity.

Concern was what she blamed her actions on, because what else would posses her to lay a hand over the specters forearm, especially when she had never been known to actually touch him except on rare occasions. Still the look on his face in that moment had made her sympathetic and when she touched him his attention had wavered onto her, which was even more uncomfortable than a simply quiet and brooding Lachance. "Lucien?"

He shrugged her off and put on his all business face with a heavy sigh. His eyes closed for a brief moment of respite as he collected himself and all his misplaced anger.

"And now we come to the end of our play. The grand finale."

Cicero's voice initiated him to glace at the door and before Rose could open it he snatched her arm. Confused she looked back at him questioningly.

"Keeper is a sacred position, Listener. Think out this decision thoroughly before trusting the wisdom of our lady." He released her then and nudged her through the door.

Cicero lay on the floor, bloody and broken before a raging fire that hardly sufficed to warm the tiny chamber, crumbled in the dirt like a forgotten child's doll. He shook with each breath and shivered out each exhale all the while clinging onto the gash made by Arnbjorn. As Rose approached he watched closely and when she stood at his feet their eyes met. For a terrifying second all was silent but then he let out a deranged laugh that lead to a fit of coughing. Despite his condition he found it in himself to muse up at her, grinning madly, as he proclaimed "you caught me! I surrender!"

Astrid stood in her usual spot, leaning into the wall with vulture eyes that scanned the Black door expectantly. When the duo finally turned up days later she was waiting, arms crossed in dismay but shoulders slumped downwards in a relief that wasn't for the dark haired Nord. "You've returned and Arnbjorn is safe. I thank you for that." Her mud eyes narrowed. Took in every detail as the Listener stood before her looking no worse for wear aside from some tattered robes that would need mending. "What of Cicero? Is he dead."

Her pack was wrenched off her shoulder and she dug around blindly, fingers sweeping and curling over the velveteen fabric before dragging out the jester motley. Astrid regarded it with pleased eyes but there was still a subtle hint of surprise lingering in their depths, finding it note worthy that the girl never smiled in her presence and in a sense looked almost too guilty. The jester garb was suddenly flung to the dirty floor where it landed with as a pile of tears and bloodstained velvet heap. "Wasn't dragging a body back," she whispered moodily and shuffled past the elder Nord without an upward glance.

Astrid's stare followed her guardedly and when the younger receded into the corridor headed for the Night Mother's coffin she turned her attention on the blank faced ghost that had lingered behind. "She appears… distressed."

"I couldn't imagine why," Lucien scoffed, his displeasure now evident in his voice and directed solely on her.

A lesser woman might have cringed.

"Honestly, over a traitor?" She asked astonished, the toes of her boot kicking the pile of bloodied clothing at her feet with little regard but more for emphasis than anything. "No one will miss the rambling little fool."

Lucien's eyes narrowed dangerously at her defensiveness and disrespectful gesture. He itched for his dagger but instead settled for intimidation as he leaned in proximally and snarled. "A death is owed. One that has not been fulfilled. Remember that."

He heard her scoff and mutter something along the lines of the Emperor and Festus but he continued walking away, leaving her to clean up the mess on the floor. When he made it to the Night Mother's chamber his Listener was sitting in the front pew, staring blankly at the matron's decaying corpse. Instead of breaking the silence with some semblance of comforting words he merely sat beside her in silent prayer.

"I'm sorry you have to be apart of this mess," she whispered meekly beside him and his head lilted over to get a glimpse of her. Blue eyes still focused ahead but her teeth grinded anxiously at her lip till it bled. Mother was ever quite.

He sighed, "You've brought me into nothing. There is nothing to apologize for."

"Except Cicero," she pointed out raking her eyes over burnt out candles, drooping rotting flowers, and jars of unopened spiced oils. She bit down harder.

"That doesn't warrant an apology. I only advised, it was your decision to make."

A drawn out pause passed over the room. Arnbjorn's smithing could be heard from far off and snippets of conversation between other dark siblings managed to slither between them and every sound was finger curling around her throat. Finally she looked up at him with eyes that appeared too glassy for his liking. "… I don't want to stay here."

Lucien rose from the pew and offered an outstretched hand that she clung too almost instantly. Pulling her up he lead her through the isle and out the door with a hand on her shoulder, "Nor I. Besides, we have more important goals in which to accomplish than a night's rest."

She nodded, but other than that, was silent.

Markarth was an interesting enough place. A city of stone walls even more ancient than perhaps the dragons themselves. The extinct race of elves certainly knew a great deal of craftsmanship and scientific know-how to build such magnificent buildings and deadly constructs as the inanimate centurions left as decorative guardians within the keep.

Anton was an annoying little wretch of a man with the backbone of a jellyfish when the Dark Brotherhood had been brought up. It hadn't taken long to get the needed information out of him after that and Rosalind left him behind with the promise of life as she walked out into the stone streets and listened to the rushing and gushing of the large waterfall, so peaceful and lovely.

Lucien had elected to stay behind and tie up loose ends considering the way Rose had been seen coming into the keep and speaking with him would most assuredly arouse suspicion should she leave with a dead cook still a fresh corpse in the kitchen. She didn't need to be Markarth's number one murder suspect at the moment and maybe if Lucien got his hands dirty, figuratively, he might stop complaining about being so restless all the time. Of course when discussing the matter earlier she had made a point to avoid sharing her distaste at killing the man with him, even if he was obnoxious.

So she waiting in the streets, walking around and browsing the little forge where the Orc woman berated her apprentice for skipping steps in forging nails. She cracked her first smile in days as the man fumbled over words and excuses because she remembered her first smithing lessons with Eorlund. Getting past his gruff exterior he loved what he did, was passionate about it, and because of him she knew how to work magic with steel and further applied tricks he had shared with other types of metals.

The olive skinned elf glanced at her and made a point of rolling her eyes at whatever it was the male was ranting over. They shared a brief smile as she turned away and shoved a pile of iron ingots into her apprentice's hands. "Make it again." she huffed unforgiving and turned to the workbench, laying out a leather cuirass and hammering out leather for adjustments.

The juniper bushes that grew in the reach were abundant and as she walked the streets their branches blew in the wind, little round berries falling into the paths. Rounding the corner she halted abruptly and ripped the ebony dagger out of its sheath. It glowed with unnatural red light as she rushed forwards toward the darker skinned man who stalked closer to a jewelry vendor's customer, a steel dagger poised and ready as he suddenly shouted about the Forsworn.

The dark skinned miner grabbed her by the dress as she clamored to get away, a piercing scream on her lips that drew the guards into sprinting towards them. Rosalind plunged the black blade into his nape, splitting through the back of his throat and his body jerked before slumping over at her feet. His blood stained her boots and pooled onto the stone as the woman's shrieking stopped and the guards hovered around like wasps, buzzing out questions.

The woman in the stitched blue dress with dirty blond hair clasped Rose's hands and shoved a very expensive looking silver emerald necklace into her gloved palm, overlooking the blood tinged blade still occupying her right. "I bought this for my sister, but I want you to have it."

Rosalind blinked at her, still shocked in all the confusion of the situation. She shook her head and attempted to return the token but the woman held fast, forcing her fingers closed ever tighter around it. "I can't-"

"Please take it." She almost pleaded, eyes sincere and still hauntingly terrified. "You saved my life."

Rosalind dropped her hands, fingers twirling absentminded in the silver chain as the Nord woman smiled thankfully and turned away to speak with the jewelry vendor. Dumbfounded she stood still and quiet in a crowd of bustling and frenzied people.

A tap on her shoulder made her whirl around where a man handed her a note. "I found this on the street. You must have dropped it."

Glancing at the white folded sheet she couldn't remember carrying around a letter, but then again those couriers were always finding her and handing her all sorts of nonsense. When she looked up to thank him he had disappeared, blending back into the crowd and her brows wrinkled suspiciously.

As the guards took statements from the crowd of people Rose slunk away from all the attention until she felt the chill of death upon her shoulder, guiding her towards the large doors that lead out of the city to the stables.

"It's done." He whispered into her ear and she nodded as they left and traipsed down the stairwell. The dogs near the stables barked as the giant doors shut tight and the horses shook their heads at them. Rose walked over and pet one of the dogs, scratching him behind the ears and wishing that Grav had come with them.

Lucien's impatience was practically radiating in the air and when his Listener finally made a point to leave and cross over the bridge leading out of town it couldn't come sooner. He released his invisibility spell as they made pace for their rendezvous point where Shadowmere was left to wander and trample the occasional mudcrab. "Not going to ask for details?"

Although his question had sounded slightly playful she still scrunched her nose at it and chose to ignore him, something he was getting immensely tired of. She was being much too quiet, especially for her. He leaned in and bumped her with his elbow trying to invoke some manner of response, but her eyes were fixed on the road, so instead he took to purring in her ear. "It was invigorating."

She swatted at him like a fly until he backed off and her eyes darkened just enough in her glare to send a message that made him snort in suppressed mockery. Town full of people and potential Vigilants of Stendarr be damned apparently. "I'mma punch you."

That threatening growl was nothing to him, as nothing as the potential transformation would be, and he watched her anger rise when he did nothing but lift a hand to twirl a finger in her hair. When he hooked it and stopped walking she growled frustrated and huffed as she was forced to choice between stopping as well or continue and let Lachance rip that piece of hair out. She chose the former and prayed she hadn't when she saw that horrible smile on his face. "I'll like it."

"Get away from me." She smacked his hand, thankful that he released her and allowed a temporary retreat. At least if she kept pace ahead of him he couldn't read her face and instigate more of a reaction.

Unfortunately this was the biggest reaction, and the closest to normal, he had witnessed since returning from Dawnstar and he was unwilling to let it go just yet. Besides, he did enjoy toying with her when opportunity arose. So he jogged behind her and made a point to slide a hand over her hip in a way that was a little too sensual. "But darling."

"No!" She huffed and instantly squirmed out of his cold grip. Her cheeks felt much too hot and she shook her head looking farther up the path for any means of distraction. Of course any other day a bear would just be sitting there waiting for her to get within one mile of it to attack. Today the roads were clear of the nasty buggers and the annoying as hell bandits. Shame that.

Lucien trudged on with purpose and now his pace matched her own and she nearly jumped six feet when his hand ghosted over her backside. "Don't make me get the belt missy."

"Stop!" Rosalind covered her face with both hands in sheer embarrassment, silently praying for the roar of a dragon to sound in the distance. Or for Lucien to grow bored of his insinuations enough to let her collect herself and possibly get back to her potential self-loathing.

"You know, I've heard an interesting rumor related to Cidhna Mine when we were in there." He commented nonchalantly and she dared to peek out at his smirking face.

"I'm almost afraid to ask." She replied guardedly and criticizing Lucien's grand ideas of fun. He seriously needed a new game to play that didn't involve making her extremely uncomfortable and flustered. She wondered if he'd by the excuse that such things were bad for business, but she highly doubted it.

"They say the stonework is seamless enough to contain even the most agonizing of screams, and the shackles… sturdy."

It took a minute, but eventually she comprehended his insinuation. He knew this because he had never seen a woman blanch like that while still being alive, not to mention the way her eyes grew wide and she simple gaped for multiple seconds like a fish out of water.

"Lucien! What the hell is wrong with you?!" When she found her tongue she was practically screaming and despite his more sinister laughter even he ended up having to shush her. He touched her lips with his finger and she in turn grabbed his wrist and held fast, pulling it away yet not quite letting go.

He didn't mention it though, but still smiled that rare twisted playful grin all the same. "In truth, I enjoy watching you squirm."

She pouted then, frowning and looking up into his eyes from beneath long black lashes. "I'm not squirming,"

"Alas, you are embarrassed nonetheless."

She shook her head at him in disbelief, but then she smiled and gave him the subtlest of laughs. "You are such a cruel, twisted man."

He considered this a moment and nodded approvingly. "Oh, I know. But just how much, you never will."

Rosalind rolled her eyes as they walked down the road out of town. Lucien never brought up what the Breton had to say regarding the Orc, nor did he mention she was still holding onto his hand.

Lucien walked up behind her as Cicero let loose another array of demented chuckling. In the gravity of the moment Rosalind didn't notice his approach until his hand fell to her shoulder and he spoke. "I will kill this jester if you so desire, but, there is a disturbance in the Void. Our Dread Father does not wish this."

The specter warned as she fiddled with the hilt of a still freshly crafted ebony blade. The jester watched it glow magically with an ever-present red tint and coughed for a dramatic effect. Even in his insanity he was not stupid and took the opportunity. "Yes, yes, Listener. Killing me would be a mistake." He rasped out before his brown eyes narrowed up at her and his tone changed from a high crow to a low waning. "You would displease our mother."

Rosalind said nothing, but her eyes darted away and she shrugged out of the ancient Speaker's embrace. She was hesitant in her decision. Should she kill Cicero or not? On one hand he had attacked Astrid and Veezara. Had injured Arnbjorn but that was the result of being hunted down, and by a werewolf no less. How could she really blame him for defending himself?

On the other he did unsuccessfully and well unintentionally tried to kill her as well. Although, not so much her as whoever Astrid decided to send after him and it was more a handful of dead assassins and booby traps attempting to do the killing. And then there was the matter of deciding whether or not his motives were betrayal or not. She wasn't sure she could call defending your religion and the practices of it a betrayal… But could blasphemy and dictatorship, doing away with every aspect of ancient tradition be considered betrayal?

She shook her head and rubbed at her temples as she thought over all that Astrid had said. The events had been consistent but what set him off to do such things… It was Astrid's fault wasn't it? Her head hurt, this was all just too much and Lucien was much too quiet now.

The Night Mother was much too quiet now.

"Walk away, let poor Cicero live."

Rosalind opened her eyes and looked down at the jester that she had called brother, lying by the roaring fire looking so vulnerable and exposed. He was the one that had helped mend her wounds when Mercer had left a scar on her hip and a whole in her heart where her delusions of family had been. The one who did everything just to see her smile, to make her laugh, to forget about the treacherous thief and all he had done to tear away the few people she had come to care for.

She missed Brynjolf. He always knew what to do. He tried to be a good man, even if he was a thief. He was noble and he would tell her to be noble too, but looking at Cicero…

"Tell the pretender Astrid you did the deed. Strangled, stabbed, drowned poor Cicero. An itty bitty lie."

She swallowed thickly. It was like looking at herself, seeing herself splayed over the floor of the ruins with Mercer leering over her. That golden Dwarven sword digging and ripping into the flesh of her stomach, leaving a horrid acidic taste in her mouth. Her fingers curled around the hilt at the mere memory of him and Cicero released another distressed heaving breath as he rasped and coughed at her feet, waiting for her choice.

Rosalind turned back to look at the door and considered running out of it, but then what of Cicero? If she simply ran away what would become of him? Her eyes wavered over to Lucien who stood on the sidelines watching her closely. So many thought raced through her head to the point she weaved in her spot like she might fall over at any moment.

Lucien wouldn't kill him unless she told him to right? And if she did leave Cicero here, he wouldn't be stupid enough to try to come back to the Sanctuary would he? She hoped not. Then again, what if she did leave him alive? Would Astrid throw her out? Rosalind may not particularly like her all that much, but she liked Gabriella, and Veezara. If Astrid exiled her, she would miss them, or maybe not. Astrid might just have her killed.

Rose discreetly pulled a bottle out of her pocket and dripped the vile green over her dagger. There was just way too much to think about and when she turned back around Cicero was looking up at her still. She took a step and he breathed deeper. "Do what you will. Cicero has no fight left."

She frowned and hunched down next to him. For a moment his gaze brightened but then she raised the blade and sliced his arm cleanly across. "I'm sorry," she whispered watching his eyes droop. His consciousness quickly slipping out of his grasp and the realization hit him like a punch in the face. She had poisoned him, and he chocked out his farewell before succumbing to its affects. "Coming mother."

Cicero had never expected in a million years to ever awaken hours later, especially covered in a blanket with a coin purse and a rather powerful healing potion just off to the side of where he lay slumbering. He forced himself into a sitting position and pinched himself, equally as surprised that it hurt and he in fact was not dreaming.

The fire was dwindling down to coals now and the loneliness of being left in the dead Sanctuary pricked at his mind. He hated solitude. Shoving away the blankets he picked through the coin purse and smiled a happy deranged smile that nearly stretched ear to ear. "Wonderful Listener. Looking after poor Cicero."

Chuckling he counted out a comfortable quantity of gold septims and picked out a little scrap of white paper. The black inked calligraphy spelled out simply, "I'm sorry" in Listener's pretty handwriting. He rose from his spot on the floor, tucked away the coins and note, and drank down the healing potion that till now lay forgotten on the cold stone floor, relieved to feel the painful throb in his arm recede.

He left the room and the fire behind, intent on making his way for Dawnstar. Surely there was enough for him to get a bite to eat and then he would need a ride to Falkreath. He might not be able to return to the Sanctuary but he could surely keep tabs on his thoughtful Listener.

By the time Cicero had gotten someone to actually agree to give an eccentric man like himself a ride two days had passed. Two days of renting rooms at the inn instead of facing the loneliness of the abandoned Sanctuary, especially now that he couldn't distract himself with chores and tending to the Night Mother.

Cicero felt restless and anxious the entire trip to Falkreath and even more so when he saw the smoke coming from far off in the distance. He knew where the smoke was coming from and in a flurry or red jester motley he jumped out of the carriage, flinging a handful of gold over his shoulder as he ran and ran until he could run no more.

He gasped and heaved as he stood upon the roadside ruins, looking down on the Sanctuary he briefly called home. Below the oil had burnt itself out and bodies lay strewn about. Some family some Imperials in fancy shiny armor. The Black door opened and Listener emerged, black soot marks streaking her face as she coughed and wiped at her cheeks. The ghostly specter was right behind her, ever-present and following like a loyal dog. The majestic black steed pranced over, tossing its mane and nickering as hooves crunched their way through the skull of one of the soldiers.

Cicero watched as Rosalind clamored up into the saddle of the large beast, Lucien hanging back and ushering her onwards without him. She appeared perplexed but turned Shadowmere towards the road and trotted away without much of an argument.

The Keeper was so transfixed on finding out where the Listener was off to he hardly noticed the ghost of Lucien Lachance appear beside him. "Off to find a lake," he commented dryly, watching the Imperial jolt and laugh when he realized just who was talking to him.

"Oh Speaker! Cicero thought you were just another voice in his head," he laughed and clapped his hands, the bells of his cap jingling joyously as he broke out in a dance. "Cicero is alive, but what of the pretender?"

"Astrid is slain for betraying the Dark Brotherhood. The deed done so by our Listener." He informed, arms crossing amidst his chest and gaze wavering far over the horizon to the North. The dark clouds foreshadowing the coming of deathly blizzard. "Meet us in Dawnstar, Keeper."

Cicero chuckled heartily and watched the Speaker vanish, most likely on his way back to the Listener's side. Sweet wonderful Listener, killer of the pretender, and savoir of the Keeper. He giddily skipped down the side of the ruins and off towards Falkreath. Maybe that nice man would still be plucking coins out of the dirt and he could persuade his to take him back to Dawnstar to be with his dark family and new best friend, the Listener.

A crooked smile warped his face in deranged bliss. Oh yes, best friends forever.

Tenet 5, broken.

Author's Note: Well the final chapter. Almost sad to see it end. It's been a fun ride! Thank you guys for sticking with me to the very end. Hopefully I can get myself motivated to bring you more Lucien and Rosalind in the near future, for those of you that actually wish to see more of these two of course :)

Also sorry if the ending felt horribly rushed. Having some dreaded computer issues :(